Ebony and Ivory
by Rahja
Summary: Lucrezia Borgia and Anne Boleyn were two of the most famous women of their time and remain a fascination even today. What would have happened if their stories had ever intersected? Would they have been enemies or sisters? Would they have changed the course of history? Read this story to find out.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: IN ANOTHER WORLD**

_In life, you were powerful and commanded respect. In death, only memories of the past remain. You are but a shadow of the things that once were. But who were you? What did people call you? _

„They called me a harlot because I loved a married man. They called me a witch for ensnaring his heart. They called me Queen but never meant it. They called me a heretic for trying to free them from superstition. They called me a traitor because my name was slandered. They called for my death, but in my final moments, they went silent. Some call me a martyr now. Some. But to most, I will forever be known as Anne Boleyn, the great whore."

"They called me a poisoner because I knew the way of courtly schemes. They called me a harlot for living the way my heart commanded me to. They accused me of incest because, unlike so many, I truly cared for my family. They called me a murderess when they should have called me a politician. They called me infamous, but who was I truly? I was a daughter, a sister, a lover, and a mother. I was and will forever be only this to them: Lucrezia Borgia, the great whore."

"Women ahead of our time; that is what we were. We had a mind of our own and could not resist using it. We had ideas and dreams. Our opinions influenced the outcome of wars and changed religious beliefs. We could have ruled in our own right, but we were women, dismissed for being weak and feeble. We were pawns in the games of power. We were marionettes of others and when we tried to cut our strings, we threatened the very basis of social order."

"We were also lovers. We may not have been lucky in our choice of men, but that is not to say that we never loved. Oh, how fiercely and passionately we loved at times! Many great men of our time – poets, cardinals, kings – succumbed to our charms. We were master seductresses, skilled in capturing a man's body and soul. We were no common harlots as some may say – we were passionate. We loved as men love: in a very demanding way. It was unheard of and caused people to demonise us."

"We were mothers. True, we are mostly not remembered by it since the picture of beautiful seductress seems incompatible with that of a tender loving mother. Nevertheless, that is what we were. We would have given everything for the well-being of our children and in fact, we did. Both of us died for them. We fought like she-bears for our offspring and succeeded. Our seed would grow and rule. We were mothers to the future."

"We were truly misunderstood. It hurts to know that people feared us, that they murmured behind our backs. We weren't ignorant of their suspicions, but we were also too proud to answer them. Time would give us justice, we believed. We were wrong. Even centuries after our deaths, our infamous reputation still lingers on and splits mankind into supporters and haters. We were controversial."

_You speak words of truth. No matter what people may think of you – harlot or saint – your lives have inspired centuries of rumours, literature, and fascination. You were by far two of the most interesting women in European history. Have you ever wondered what it would have been like if you had met in life?_

"It would have been a sight to behold. But you were in Italy and I was in England. I was much younger than you. When you died in childbed, I was a girl of twelve. I would have hardly been a match for you."

"But maybe if we had had a chance to meet as equals, as contemporaries, things would have been different. Would we have been enemies? Would we have been friends? I cannot decide which of the two seems more likely."

_Your meeting would have changed the outcome of history. Either as foes or as allies, the tension between you would have been strong enough to rip countries apart. It would have sown a new web of history; a web that may not be the truth, but exists as a fantasy nonetheless. Another world, another time, another life; in which the fates of Anne Boleyn and Lucrezia Borgia are intertwined. _

_What would this world be like? _


	2. History Reinvented

**1 – HISTORY REINVENTED**

Rodrigo Borgia, now known to most as Pope Alexander VI, quenched his thirst downing a cup of finest Spanish red wine. It was one of his great passions and a reminiscence of the land of his ancestors. The called him the "Spaniard" and despised him for being a foreigner, but he had defied them all by occupying the seat of St. Peter. Now they accused him of nepotism and simony, but he couldn't care less. Pope Alexander was at the height of his power.

The year was 1536. He had been appointed pontiff two years earlier following the death of Clement VII. To his mind, his predecessor had been a terrible pope for many reason, the worst of them being his Medici ancestry. He had spent vast amounts of money on political matters, thereby making more and more enemies and weakening the Papal States with every coin slipping through his fingers. He had also allowed the _Sacco di Roma_, the great sack of Rome, to humiliate the eternal city. What a shame it had been! And still, Clement had been so weak that he had been forced to acknowledge his defiler as Holy Roman Emperor and an adornment of Catholicism.

The new pope was determined to abstain from his predecessor's mistakes. He was determined to restore the former glory of Rome and the papacy and also to foster the interests of his family. His long-time mistress Vanozza had given him four wonderful children. Alexander was determined to leave the world to them.

"What news is there in the world?" Alexander asked while opening a pomegranate. He liked to be well-informed. Only an unprepared man could be taken by surprise.

"There is little news of the Spanish venture to the new world. However I heard rumours that a new city would be founded in the lands of silver," the young Cardinal replied in a rather bored voice. His name was Cesare Borgia, the Pope's eldest son. "Lucrezia has written to us announcing that she will come to Rome to join us for the wedding of our brother Gioffre. The King of France has also written a letter. He demands to receive a final answer on the matter of Naples and seeks your help in the matter of his son, who is currently held prisoner by the Emperor. I believe the winds of war may soon be blowing over us again."

"Our darling daughter is coming home at last," Alexander said smiling, completely neglecting the threat of a major war in Europe. "It is with such pleasure that we think of the upcoming wedding, if only to see our sweet Lucrezia again. We sometimes fear that our decision for her was unwise. Tell us, Cesare, what news is there of her marriage?"

"None, I fear," Cesare hated to admit. "Her husband appears to be very strict, but not in an unseemly matter. Yet I swear to you, Holy Father, on my life, that if I ever found he was ungallant, I would personally hold him responsible."

The Pope nodded. Driving his teeth into his pomegranate, his thoughts drifted away from earthly politics back to the angelic face of his only daughter. Had he really made the right choice for her? Doubts were nagging him almost every night in his sleep. In order to distract himself from them, he turned to his son again.

"Is there anything else? Any news?"

"Only some minor rumours. The French queen is believed to be pregnant, the English king obviously plans to rid himself of his wife, and there are rumours that the Protestant movement will soon take over Denmark and Norway."

The Pope nodded again, still absent-minded, but once his brain processed all the information, a curious frown appeared on his forehead.

"What were you saying?"

"I said they were just minor rumours about the French queen and…"

Alexander waved his words away. "No, no, no, what were you saying about the King of England? How can he rid himself of his wife when only a few days ago, I was told that brave Queen Catherine had died in poverty and shame?"

"Not this wife. The other one, the one who is presently called his Queen," Cesare corrected him.

The Pope's eyes widened even more. "The King plans to rid himself of _Anne Boleyn_? Why? Why on earth would he throw away the woman he severed his ties to Rome for? He has defied our predecessor in order to marry her – why would he now undo her?"

"I can only speculate, Holy Father, but I presume his desire was influenced by the fact that she has suddenly lost the son she was carrying. Rumour has it that she miscarried after catching the King in flagranti delicto, copulating with his latest mistress," Cesare reported in a very sober way. "They also say that the King plans to marry said mistress and make her his new Queen."

"Oh, how history repeats itself. But we are curious: How does he mean to accomplish this? There is no pope that he can deny this time in order to free himself. If he declares the marriage invalid, he must thereby acknowledge his own fallibility. We had always thought him to be too proud a man for that."

Cesare shrugged. "Perhaps his desire for a son is even greater than his pride. In any case, he will get what he wants. He has tastes his power once; he will not shy away from using it once more." He poured himself a cup of wine now. "My man at the English court is a very shrewd man. He tells me that the King might try to end the marriage by citing the forbidden proximity that existed as a result of his previous relationship to the Queen's sister. My man also says that the King might go even further and accuse her of adultery."

"Adultery is an abominable sin," Alexander said nodding. "And in the case of a Queen, it is a treasonable crime as well. It would cost her life."

"I believe so, too, Holy Father," Cesare agreed and took a sip.

Alexander leant forward. "In which case, we ought to be grateful. It must be His doing that the Queen is deposed, since it has come to our ears that she is a Lutheran heretic. We cannot allow such nefarious lies to come from the mouth of anointed monarchs, can we?" He smiled. "Surely, dear Cesare, this is His doing. We shall pray to Him that the King's next wife will be a godly woman who can give him a son so that this whole sordid affair can come to an end. We are rather irritated by the constant news from England. We want peace."

Cesare nodded. "Yes, Holy Father, we shall pray for it."

He had no intention of doing so. In fact, he couldn't care less for the trifles of English politics. It mattered not to him who the King of England considered to be his wife and whether or not he got his longed-for son. Many had been absorbed by the tale of betrayal and love that had grown from the love-triangle between King Henry and his two Queens. Cesare hadn't. He had never pitied Catherine of Aragon, knowing that she could have had a much better life for herself and her daughter if only she hadn't been so terribly stubborn. He cared little for Anne Boleyn either. She had opened Pandora's Box and would now pay for her ambition. She had set a precedence for others to follow, so it seemed only consequential that she should now be replaced by the same means by which she had gained power. But least of all, Cesare couldn't bring himself to form an interest in the person of King Henry VIII. He was so obviously a slave to his passions, a character trait that Cesare despised. Men like Henry weren't fit to make politics. He knew that the King had once been destined to become a priest instead of a ruler. If only it had been that way, if only Henry had become a cardinal and he could have been a layman!

But life wasn't like that. Life was unfair. To him, to King Henry, to dead Queen Catherine, and now to Queen Anne. What did it matter to him?

* * *

Cesare couldn't take his eyes off of her. Could it truly be that each passing day had made her more beautiful? Her long, honey blonde hair flowing from the top of her head like a waterfall of gold, her deep hazel eyes that seemed to change colour every time you looked, those sweet pink lips… Lucrezia was an angel made flesh; the perfect woman with one exception: She was his sister. Being a cardinal, he was forbidden to admire any woman, but even if he had been a layman, adoring his own sister would have been a sin. Cesare knew it very well, but there was no escape. To him, his beautiful little sister was the image of perfection.

"Do you think they will be happy?" Her sweet, bell-like voice asked.

Cesare feigned a smile. "I certainly hope so. Gioffre may be young, perhaps too young for being married, but at least his wife is pretty."

Gioffre, the young boy of twelve to whom he was referring, was their brother whose marriage to Sancia of Aragon had given Lucrezia an excuse to return to Rome, if only for a short while. Sancia was the illegitimate daughter of the King of Naples. She was four years her husband's major and enticingly beautiful, though she did not meet with the taste of time. 16th century Italy idolised women like Lucrezia; sweet, pale and light-haired. Sancia however was tan, busty, and more of a fiery beauty. Her eyes betrayed the fact that unlike her young husband, she was neither a virgin nor inexperienced, a fact that may have been lost to an innocent soul like Lucrezia, but not to Cesare. And apparently, her seductiveness had also not gone unnoticed by their other brother Juan. Cesare had seen the exchange of glances between them during the wedding. If Sancia wasn't his mistress already, she would soon be.

Of course, Cesare would not mention his thoughts to his darling sister. She was an ingénue, a kind soul who wished best for all her siblings. He could not trouble her with his fears of the future. If Juan truly overstepped boundaries, it would be his brotherly duty to stop him, and he would do it in the most discreet manner possible so as to spare Lucrezia the shock. For her, he would do anything.

"Alas, a pretty wife may not always be enough," Lucrezia said sighing.

Her tone alarmed Cesare. He took her hand into his and tried to look into her eyes. "Is your marriage unhappy, sis? Has your husband been unkind?"

"He… is my lawful husband and uses me as a man does his wife," Lucrezia admitted reluctantly. "Please make me say no more."

"What is it, sis? You must tell me," Cesare insisted. "Have you forgotten the time when we promised to be true to each other, every day, always? There is nothing you could not tell me."

Lucrezia flinched. "There is nothing to say, brother. I have chosen to go down this path for the sake of our father, and it is for him that I will continue."

"But if he mistreats you, no, if anything there is not to your liking, I would alter your plight and…"

"No," Lucrezia said firmly, putting a finger on his lips. Her skin felt as soft as silk. "There is nothing you can do and I would have it this way. Please, Cesare, if you wish to do anything, if you must do anything, then cheer up my spirits with curious stories. Don't ask. Please."

Cesare nodded reluctantly. He could tell that she was keeping something from him, but he did not know exactly what it was. It was probably safe to assume that she wasn't very happy in her marriage, but if he acted upon this assumption, he might risk his father's precious alliance to the powerful Sforza family. Hearing her words, he realised that she was becoming a mature woman with a grasp of politics. For once, he would trust her judgment and ask no more, but if ever he encountered a proof of her husband's mistreatment of her, his fury would be without limits.

"Curious stories?"

"Yes, Cesare. Tell me something worth listening to, a story, just like my beloved Cem used to," Lucrezia insisted sadly.

It hurt him to see her this way, still suffering from the loss of their oriental friend Cem after all the time that had passed. Of course she didn't know that her own brother Juan had poisoned Cem in order to gain money for her dowry. If she did, if she was aware that her friend had died to make way for her unhappy marriage, it would break her. Cesare could never allow that to happen. So in order to turn her mind away from her own plight, he decided to speak about a marriage that was far worse than hers.

"Have you heard of the Queen of England?" He asked gently. "People say that the King means to rid himself of her."

Lucrezia raised one of her slender eyebrows. "Really? I was told that he loved her more than anything. He has defied the Holy Church for her, has he not?"

"Indeed, sis, but it seems their love has soured. After three years of marriage, all she has given him is a daughter and some stillborn sons. Now it seems his love has wandered again. I am told he means to marry his latest mistress."

"And drive another woman to death for displeasing him. Is this what happens to unlucky wives?" Lucrezia asked, sadness besmirching her beautiful face.

"Oh no, no, it is far from common," Cesare tried to assure her, cursing himself inwardly for having chosen the wrong topic. "The King of England is unique in his tastes. And surely he has good reasons to want out of his marriage."

Lucrezia looked up into the perfectly blue sky of Italian spring. A golden curl slipped from her shoulder.

"I pity her," she said quietly.

Cesare frowned. "You pity her, sis? Why? You know what she has done to the former Queen, do you not think it just that the same fate should befall her?"

Lucrezia's eyes wandered towards the aviary. "She is but a pawn in the games of others. She is a bird in a golden cage, brother. In this, she is just like me."

Her words shocked him. Did she really feel that way, like a bird in a cage? "But our father sees it as an intervention of God that a heretic like her should lose the crown," he tried to object.

"It does not matter. She was in love," Lucrezia said absent-mindedly. "There is no stronger force than love, Cesare. It overcomes everything and dwarves even religion. Surely you must know that."

"I do," he admitted very silently.

"What will happen to her?"

"She will probably take the veil and become a nun once her marriage to the King is annulled. But there is also the possibility that she might be tried for adultery, in which case it is highly likely that she be sentenced to death."

Lucrezia shuddered visibly. "The poor woman."

The deep, never-ending sadness in her eyes caused Cesare's heart to bleed. He felt like tearing it from his chest only to escape the pain that it was causing him. Had he not tried to cheer her up? Instead his story had only made her more miserable.

"Would it please you if her life was spared?" He heard himself asking.

Lucrezia's hazel eyes were immediately resting on him. "Could you do that?"

"If it would help to cheer up your spirits, sis, I would do anything. I would defy death for you if necessary," Cesare said sternly. "And if my sweet Lucrezia says that she wants to see the English Queen live, I am sure that the Holy Father can do something about it. I hear he is very interested in seeing said Lucrezia smile."

And indeed she did just that, smiling at her brother in the sweetest way possible. "Oh Cesare," she whispered.

"Sweet sister." Gently he put back one of her curls behind her ear and returned the smile. "I promise to do everything to make you happy."

Lucrezia leant her head against his shoulder and clutched his hand ever tighter. "I know, Cesare, I know."

* * *

"What has changed your mind?"

Cesare fled his father's gaze. They were standing in the papal parlour looking at each other as if they were just father and son, but of course they were not just that. They were powerful men. They were politicians. They were men of God.

"When we last spoke to you, you told us that the English Queen would likely pay the ultimate price. We agreed that it was a just punishment, Cesare, but now you are telling us to intervene on her behalf," Pope Alexander continued. "Why the change of mind?"

Cesare considered his options. He could tell his father the truth: That he still didn't care whether the Queen of England lived or died, but that he had promised to make his sister happy. But it was dangerous for a man to admit such fondness, even for his sister, even to his father. A man like him couldn't afford weakness. He chose to go for a convenient half-truth.

"My man in England has indicated that the Lord Chancellor might be the mastermind behind the machinations against the Queen. People say there has been much discord between them as of lately," Cesare began. "Now, Holy Father, as you well know, this Thomas Cromwell is quite obviously a fervent Protestant, constantly pushing the King of England farther away from the See of Rome. The Queen may be a heretic, but surely the true devil must be the man pouring poison into the King's ear."

The Pope frowned. "We might agree with you on this, but we do not see why our distaste for Master Cromwell should make us more inclined to like the Queen."

"Then allow me to point it out to you." Cesare took a deep breath and began the story he had come up with to justify his irrational desire to please Lucrezia with rational means. "If the Chancellor is plotting against the Queen, his former ally, it must mean that they no longer share a common ground. Perhaps his actions have become too radical for her? Maybe the Queen never wanted to push so far, so he decided to rid himself of the only other person who could affect the King's decisions? Holy Father, it seems entirely possible that Queen Anne is not so much our enemy as we might have thought. She might be misguided, but then, many people are. Is it not our holy duty to lead them back to the path of righteousness?"

"Ah." A smile crossed Alexander's face. "But what about Cromwell?"

"Oh, he is beyond salvation, no doubt, but the Queen may be not. They say she is a shrewd woman, a male mind in a female body. She might be useful to our family."

The Pope ventured a few steps towards his son. "But what makes you believe she would? Even if she is not as radical as others, she still despises the very idea of the papacy."

"I think you may find that revenge is a very strong force, especially in women," Cesare returned grinning. "We share a common enemy."

There was a moment of silence while the Pope thought it through. Cesare tried to avoid biting his lip. Had he been convincing? Would his plan work out, or would he be forced to tell the truth after all? No, surely his arguments had been good. Impressively plausible. His father would buy it.

"What do you suggest we do, Cesare?"

"Write to the King of England, Holy Father. Remind him that in your eyes, he was never truly married to Anne Boleyn and is thus, after the death of Catherine of Aragon, free to marry whom he chooses. But," Cesare paused. "But you must also remind him that if he was never married to Lady Anne, he can hardly try her for adultery. Convince him to send her into exile… here. We can make it an offer that he can't refuse. An offer to lift the threat of excommunication, if need be."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "And if he agrees, what are we to do with her?"

Cesare smiled. "We're making her our friend. We're making her the best advocate of your papacy. We're making her a Borgia."

* * *

Anne Boleyn looked out of the window but didn't see anything except for a blinding white sky. She wasn't uncomfortable, at least not physically. There were far worse lodgings at the Tower of London like those that were occupied by Mark Smeaton at the moment. Unlike all the others they had accused of sleeping with her, Mark was born a commoner and thus denied certain privileges. They had probably tortured him as well. Anne's heart clamped at the thought.

She was physically unhurt, yes, but her heart had broken into a million pieces. It wasn't just the thought of poor Mark rotting in the dungeons, it wasn't just the fear for the heads of all the others, it wasn't just the outrage she felt when thinking they had even accused her of incest… it was Henry. His betrayal hurt the most. Had he not promised to love her and only her? _London would have to melt into the Thames first_, he had told her. Apparently, it had, and it had taken her whole life with him.

In a way, it was a relief to finally know that she had lost him. Those months, no years of agony had been far worse. The uncertainty had killed her from within. She had seen Henry's love fading, she had felt it, yet she hadn't been able to stop it. At first she hadn't believed it could be possible, so she had ignored the signs, but when she finally realised something was going terribly wrong, her heart had begun to bleed. The thought of living without Henry's love was unbearable. Now, sitting in a cell of the Tower, Anne had to do just that. Could she have done anything to stop it? Maybe if she had been more pliable, less jealous, less… herself? If she had been more like the Seymour girl?

_No, not like that wench, _Anne thought angrily. _They call me a harlot, but is she any better? They won't call her a harlot. They will call her a pure white angel, a peacemaker, and whatnot. She will trick them just like she has tricked Henry. It is so unfair! But it doesn't absolve Henry from it. He is the one who betrayed me, the one who left me to rot when he had promised to love me. How could he do that? How could he believe any of these accusations to be true? How could he think Elizabeth wasn't his child? Just look at her, every inch a Tudor! _

Anne's gaze wandered off blindly, her mind soaring far away to Hatfield and her daughter. What would they tell her about her mother once she was gone? Anne had no hopes of seeing her beloved child again. Her future knew only two options now that she was imprisoned in the Tower: a nunnery or the block. Either way, she would never be allowed to contact her daughter again. She would lose the only person who truly loved her unconditionally. It felt far worse than the prospect of death.

The door opened. Curiously, Anne's gaze met with the eyes of Master Kingston, the constable of the Tower. He was a kind and respectful man, but even he couldn't heal the pain that was tearing her up.

"Master Kingston?"

"Madam, I am here with news from His Majesty. Your trial has been suspended."

Her ladies gasped, but Anne simply frowned. "I had thought to be tried tomorrow, Master Kingston. Has the King changed his mind?"

"Majesty…" Master Kingston gave her a pitiful look. "An ecclesiastical court headed by the Archbishop of Canterbury has found your marriage to the King null and void on the grounds of his previous affinity to one of your blood."

"Mary," Anne whispered.

"Since you were never His Majesty's wife in the eyes of God, a charge of adultery is no longer lawful. Those accused with you are to be released."

Anne raised an eyebrow. _Just like that?_ _Henry believes his pride was wounded yet he lets us off just so he can marry his pale wench? Where is his revenge? This isn't the man I have known._

"What is to become of me?"

"The King… has decreed that, for your wantonness, you must still be punished. He has therefore decided to send you to Rome as a token of peace-making."

Anne couldn't believe her ears. "Peace-making? With whom?"

"With His Holiness Pope Alexander. Your ship leaves the day after tomorrow."

Master Kingston bowed and turned to go, but in a sudden rush of fear, Anne ventured forward and stopped him.

"What of my daughter, Master Kingston? What is to become of her?"

"I do not know, Madam. I believe she will be considered a bastard now, but…"

"But what? Please, for the love of God, tell me what you have heard!"

He sighed. "There are rumours that the King may believe the Princess to not be his child."

Anne withdrew. Her face grew pale. "So he might disinherit her altogether."

"I fear so, my Lady."

Anne tried to get to grips with all the facts that had just rained down upon her. She had no time to wonder about Henry's change of mind regarding the vicar of Rome, not when her departure was scheduled in two days. There were more important things.

"Would you do me a favour, Master Kingston?"

He nodded quickly. "Certainly, Madam, anything."

"Will you please thank the King for his mercy and goodwill and inform him that I humbly beg for my daughter to leave the country with me? Since she is either a bastard or no child of his to the King, she will be of no use to him. He will soon beget legitimate children from the wife I am sure he means to take. No matter the mother's faults, a child is innocent, is it not, Master Kingston? And any child should be with their loving mother," Anne said hurriedly. "Please, can you find the words to convince the King? It'd mean the world to me."

He nodded again, this time more reluctantly. "I will, my Lady, but I cannot promise anything. I will include your wish in my prayers."

"That is all I can ask for, Master Kingston. Thank you."

Anne closed her eyes as he left her cell. She took a few deep breaths trying to realise the new situation she found herself in. She wouldn't burn. A fear that had haunted her for months now, the prophecy that a Queen of England would burn at the stake. It wouldn't be her. Her life was spared by some strange coincidence. Anne was sure it wasn't Henry's doing; she knew how spiteful he could be when he believed himself wronged. Someone else must have tried to save her and it must have gone wrong somehow. Prisoner of the Pope!

Anne grinned. Life was being cruel to her. She would escape one dark fate only to be tossed into another. She could expect no friendliness in Rome, of that she was sure. Pope Alexander may not be her enemy as much as his predecessor had been, but he would despise her nonetheless. She would be thrown into a lion's pit. Was it really wise to ask for Elizabeth to come with her?

_Yes, _Anne told herself. _No matter the perils that await me in Italy, they cannot be worse than living a life in disgrace and shame here in England. Elizabeth should be with the parent that loves her, not with the one for whom she has been a constant disappointment. She deserves to feel loved. I love her. I will protect her from everything. She is my daughter. My Elizabeth. My reason for living._

* * *

**AN: Welcome to this story. Please feel free to leave me a little review; I'd like to hear your opinions. Cheers, Rahja**


	3. Young Love, Old Hatred

**2 – YOUNG LOVE, OLD HATRED**

They had been aboard the _Charming Molly _for more than a month now without chance or permission to leave the careening vessel even once. They had passed many harbours, exotic places, but neither Anne Boleyn nor her daughter hat been allowed to disembark the ship for fear they might be attacked, abducted or escape themselves. Captain John Whitcock had been given expressed orders by the King of England's very own Lord Chancellor, Lord Thomas Cromwell. He would not risk anything; not while he was carrying such fragile cargo.

He had been paid very well to ship a former queen into her new exile and now that they were finally bound to reach Civitavecchia by midday, he felt enormously relieved. It wasn't that his passenger had caused him trouble; not at all. She had behaved patiently and very gratefully. Whitcock had heard a lot about the "Harlot Queen", yet the woman he was carrying to Italy was no mischievous whore. Or if she was, she was also the best actress he'd ever met. She confused him. Her eyes held something dark and mysterious, a maze of riddles he had been unable to explore. There was a weird kind of magic about her that he did not understand, and like most people he feared what he couldn't catch.

The former Queen could feel his reservation. He was no different from every other Englishman these days. They did not know what to do with her – could they still hate her now that she and her daughter had lost everything but their lives? Could they pity her?

Anne watched out as the houses of Civitavecchia began to appear on the horizon. She too would be glad to leave the vessel and Captain Whitcock. He was a painful reminder of all the horrid things the English people had said about her. But would things be better now? She did not think the Italian people would bare her any love, much less the Roman folk. She was a heretic and a prisoner. Anne bit her lip.

_Henry has done this out of spite, _she thought bitterly. _He could have sent me to a thousand other places. He could have sent me to the block or a nunnery. He could have sent me to France! God knows King Francis would have treated me with respect. He could have sent me to Spain as well to make me feel even more hated. But he didn't. He sent me here, to Rome, of all places. He sent me to the Pope. For what? To make amends? To crawl back into the lap of the Holy Father? Perhaps. But surely, he has sent me here out of spite. He knows I could have endured the hatred of Spaniards, but not the superstitious life at the very heart of Catholicism. _

"Mama!"

Her daughter's bell-like voice pulled her from her thoughts. She picked up the child with a smile.

"My Elizabeth," she whispered. Her daughter was the only good thing about her current situation. "Can you see the shore?"

"Yes, Mama."

"This is Italy."

"When will we see papa?"

Anne sighed. "I have told you, my love. This is a journey for you and me alone. We shall not be seeing your papa again for a long time. But we shall see many new and interesting things, and you'll make lots of new friends. You like making friends, don't you?"

"Yes," the child agreed smiling. "Will I get a new dress?"

"Of course," Anne replied and patted her daughters red hair. "But first, we shall have a look at the Italian fashion, won't we?"

* * *

"I'm scared of thunder, Paolo," Lucrezia Borgia admitted.

The young stable lad smiled. "It often comes before summer showers."

Rain was pouring down on them heavily, yet they were not running or trying to cover themselves. They had sought refuge under a tree and were now sitting on the wet forest ground embracing each other.

"No! Where is your imagination?" Lucrezia laughed. "It is God rehearsing His wrath. It is Jove flexing his muscles. It is my husband throwing off his splint."

A thunder roared. Smiling, Lucrezia remembered the wonderful day that her husband had fallen off his horse and broken his leg. She knew it hadn't been nice. She hadn't been the perfect wife that she had once hoped to be, but then again, Giovanni wasn't the husband she had hoped to marry. He was unkind, rude, and abused her whenever he liked. Paolo, on the other hand, was a kind-hearted creature. He loved her unconditionally, a fact that Lucrezia cherished more than anything else. Without him, she'd have been lost here. A dark thought crossed her mind.

"He will walk again soon," Lucrezia suddenly said. "What will we do with our love then?"

"We can love in secret."

"We already love in secret," Lucrezia objected and turned around. "And you knew this couldn't last forever, didn't you?"

His eyes, dark as ebony, pierced right into her soul. Her brother Cesare kept telling her that she was the embodiment of innocence, but looking at Paolo right now, Lucrezia knew he was wrong. Paolo was far more innocent than her. He was the true ingénue.

"Why not?" He asked.

"Again: where is your imagination? Have you not read your Bocaccio, your Petrarch?"

He looked hurt. "You know I can't read…"

Lucrezia instantly felt sorry for having been so blunt. She felt the urge to touch him, to comfort him, if only to apologise for her presumptuousness. Her fingers gently caressed his face.

"If you did, you'd know. Young lovers are always doomed," she explained quietly. "Just like the king and queen of England."

"What about them?"

Lucrezia smiled sadly. "They loved each other very much, so much in fact that the king angered many powerful men in order to marry her. He would have torn the world apart for her."

Paolo tilted his head. "But?"

"But their love faded away. He grew tired of her and wanted to see her dead. Gladly, the Holy Father has managed to save her life," Lucrezia explained.

"My love for you will never fade," Paolo insisted firmly.

She couldn't help but smile as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her into the soft wet grass. "And I could never grow tired of you."

Their lips met with such a longing that Lucrezia found it hard to think of anything else but him. She forgot about the sorry queen of England, forgot about her brother, forgot about her husband. There was only Paolo and her for the moment. They were Pyramus and Thisbe, star-crossed lovers without sense or hope for a future. Their only choice was to cherish the present, and both of them were determined to do just that.

* * *

Pope Alexander was in an unusually bad mood. He had received alarming reports from Tuscany. If one was to trust the eyewitnesses, the French king had brutally pillaged and sacked the city of Lucca in a manner unbeknown to Italian warfare. His men had torn the city apart, sparing not a single woman from their cocks and not a single soldier from their swords. Whatever gold and riches they found they had taken with them. Now they were heading east towards Florence. It was only a matter of days before the French would capture Florence either by defeat or intimidation, and then their path to Rome would be carved.

Much to his inconvenience, today was also the day that his English prisoner would be presented to him. Facing the worst crisis of his papacy, he couldn't care less for the fate of a foreign whore, but custom dictated that he greeted her in person. She was, after all, officially his guest. He had offered her his protection in the same fashion he had offered it to Giulia Farnese with the small exception that the latter was his mistress. He had no intention to do the same to Anne Boleyn.

"Lady Anne Boleyn, Marquess of Pembroke, and her daughter, the Lady Elizabeth," a herald announced the two foreign ladies.

Alexander leant forward and marvelled at her appearance. He had imagined her to be far more beautiful given the fact that she had managed to ensnare the King completely. She was not ugly, but no beauty, either. Her raven hair and olive skin made her seem like a Spaniard, not a Tudor flower. Her daughter, however, was unmistakably the child of Henry VIII. The King had to be a fool not to see it, but Alexander wouldn't tell him. Their newfound friendship was too shaky to be compromised by any comments the King might not want to hear, and besides Alexander mused that having Lady Elizabeth under his protection might one day come in handy.

"Come forward, child," Alexander said gently. "You may kiss our ring."

Was there a hint of reluctance in her eyes? Alexander carefully watched her kneel down and place her wine red lips on his ring. Surely she must find the situation very humiliating, but she did not show it. Alexander could not help but admire her courage.

"We are pleased to welcome you to Rome and give you shelter within our walls."

"Your Holiness is very gracious," the foreign lady said.

There! There it was, right in her eyes! Alexander saw a sparkle in them, a proof that she was playing obedient yet felt differently. The fire burning in her eyes reminded him of the thing that had convinced him to save her. His son had painted a picture of her talents and character, but now he could see it for himself. After all that had been done to her, she still possessed the strength to have her own mind. Alexander smiled.

_If only you didn't consider me your enemy, child, _he thought. _If only you could accept me and the papacy, you would make for a fine daughter._

"For you and your daughter, no expense shall be spared. We have placed you in one of our palaces currently inhabited by Signora Giulia Farnese. We trust that you shall find a friend and companion in her who can help you adjust to the Roman ways."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," Anne replied curtseying.

* * *

Cesare looked at his father in disbelief. "My God," he whispered, hearing his father's words in his head over and over again.

"_We have had intelligence that that 25,000 and more French troops are marching towards Milan."_

It couldn't be true. _25,000. Twenty-five-thousand! Or more!_ Cesare shook his head.

"Indeed. An apocalypse," the Pope agreed coldly.

"Well, it is a long march from France to Rome. Anything could happen," Cesare said trying to pacify both of them, albeit futilely. He had been to Florence asking them for help. He knew they would only stand as long as they were not directly threatened. He also knew that King Francis would threaten them.

"Well, Milan will grant safe passage," the Pope returned angrily. "Il Moro has made his intentions abundantly clear."

"But what about Florence?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "Well, you tell me! You've visited Florence."

He was screwed, Cesare knew it. "Florence keeps its counsel," he tried to evade the question.

"Yea, and its counsel is called Niccolo Macchiavelli," Alexander said darkly.

"I have his understanding that Florence will do nothing if its territories are not invaded."

Pacing around nervously, Alexander's voice rose again. "And if they are?"

"It will do something," Cesare admitted.

"Well, it's 'something' may not be enough for us. French arms may alter the whole equation!"

Cesare found himself being circled like a rabbit ready to be feasted upon. "Has the College of Cardinals heard?" He asked nervously.

"No, but they will. And we can imagine their discord already. Everyone dividing into factions," Alexander almost spit it out. "We are facing a battle for our very survival, Cesare. We can only hope that the Sforzas remember their promises towards us, promises given in exchange for our most beloved daughter."

"And if they do not?"

Alexander sighed. "Then God may help us."

_No, _Cesare thought. _Then God may help them, for I will show no mercy! They have taken Lucrezia, they have treated her badly, and if they don't give us their support in return, I will kill them all, each of them, with my own hands. And I will start with that bastard Giovanni. No, I will not kill him straight away. I'll make him suffer as much as he makes my little sister suffer. O Lucrezia! What will happen to you once French troops reach your home? Will your bastard of a husband allow them to take you? Why can't I just ride up to you and take you with me?_

* * *

The palace formerly belonging to Cardinal Orsini was a splendid house with impressive stairs and countless rooms for the rich inhabitants to waste their time in. Anne Boleyn and her bastardised daughter had been given an apartment on the second floor consisting of two bedrooms, a dressing room, a parlour, and a reception room. It was relatively modest compared to the quarters inhabited by the Pope's mistress, Madonna Giulia, but its size equalled that of the rooms Anne had once dwelled in as Queen of England. They weren't as expensively furnished, but on the upside, they were much lighter and warmer.

Looking through the open column balustrade, Anne found it hard to miss her old lodgings. They had always been depressing and dark, whereas the Italian climate allowed her new home to be open and cheerful. At least something was better than before.

She had been in Rome for some three weeks now, barely speaking to anyone but her beloved daughter and the servants. The Pope had not sent for her again – apparently he was facing a war with France that would require all his strength. Anne didn't know what to make of it. She had never been fond of the papacy and had always been a friend of Francis's, but knowing that he might soon breech the walls of Rome with his mighty artillery, Anne now found it hard to root for him. Would he truly kill hundreds and thousands of innocent Romans for the crimes of the Pope, or even worse, just for the crown of Naples? And what would he do to her, seeing that he had abandoned her in her hour of need?

No, as sad as it seemed, Anne could not hope for King Francis to be her saviour. By a strange coincidence, the Pope was now her best life insurance. If he fell, if Rome fell, then Anne was doomed with them.

But politics was not the only matter troubling her during her first weeks in Italy. With each passing day, Anne felt more and more alone, utterly abandoned. Aboard the _Charming Molly_, she had been able to look forward to arriving at least, but now she found no other purpose in life than Elizabeth. Sadly though, she now had to admit, being nothing but a mother wasn't enough for her. Her mind lusted for conversations, for competition, for danger. Still, there was no one she could turn to.

The only person other than a servant that Anne could have spoken to was Giulia Farnese, but the Italian beauty had given her the cold shoulder so far. She couldn't resent Giulia for it – she might have reacted similarly had their positions been swapped. Most likely, the Signora feared for the Pope's love now that another pretty woman had been placed in her house. Would she be replaced by a former queen? Perhaps no one in this world could understand her fears better than Anne, for it had all happened to her. She had heard rumours that Henry had wed his Seymour wench. It simply hurt. If Giulia felt anything like this, no wonder did she try to avoid Anne.

Rising from her chair, Anne put her lovely daughter in the care of the servants and left to search for Giulia. She would not repeat her mistakes now; she would not allow others to hate her for the wrong reasons. Not this time.

"Madonna Giulia?" Anne addressed her curtseying after she had found her in the garden. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

The beautiful redhead turned around nodding silently. "If it pleases you, Lady Anne."

They were of course speaking Latin, for not only was it the usual language of upper class Romans, but also the only common language both of them knew.

"I could not help but notice that you have put a considerable amount of time and effort into avoiding any conversations with me, Madonna, and I was wondering if it might be to do with His Holiness," Anne said gently but bluntly. "In which case I can assure you that I do not and will never seek to replace you in his heart."

Giulia remained silent for long, switching between looking at Anne and staring at the garden flowers. Finally, she asked: "Do you know why he has brought you here?"

"No." Anne shook her head. "Political reasons, I assume, though I must admit I was surprised myself. It is no secret that I am no admirer of the papacy. I would not know why he treated me with kindness, but seeing that he hasn't called for me these past weeks, I think it is safe to assume that he takes as little interest in me as I in him."

Giulia hid a smile. "Oh, what do you care for, then?"

"My daughter," Anne replied without hesitation. "She is everything I have left. Forgive me if my presence here renders you uneasy, but rest assured that I mean no harm to you and your friendship to the Holy Father. All I wish is to lead is a peaceful life with no more pain."

Her honesty rendered Giulia speechless. True, she had feared her new neighbour, wondering if Alexander had already replaced her in his heart. But now, seeing the pain that the former Queen was hiding so carefully, she could not help but feel sorry for her ill treatment. If anyone could relate to living with a bad husband, it was Giulia.

"I hope that you will find peace and serenity here," she said calmly and smiled. "Both you and your daughter. If you could find it in your heart to set aside your differences with His Holiness, I am sure you will find in him a very supportive friend. And if you wish, also in me."

Anne smiled reluctantly. "I should like that very much, Madonna Giulia. It is rather quiet for a lone woman in the evenings."

"That is our lot," Giulia agreed. "Perhaps you would like to dine with me tonight? I have always wanted to hear about England and its enchanted forests."

"I would, if you do not mind extending this offer to my daughter also?"

Giulia nodded smiling. "Certainly not, my Lady. I have always held children very dear, and I have heard your daughter is the loveliest rose ever to be born on English soil."

"Thank you. I shall see you by nightfall, then," Anne returned courteously and curtseyed once more.

The first step had been made, the first step into a new life without hatred, into a life with friends and supporters, not just slander and malevolence. Anne prayed to God that there would soon be a second step taking her even further. It was her only hope.

* * *

**AN: Please excuse the shortness of this chapter, I devoted much of my time to my other story (_God Works in Mysterious Ways_). Hope you liked this bit, though, and feel free to review! Next chapter will see the French invasion, Lucrezia losing some more of her innocence, and perhaps the first meeting between our two favourite ladies! Stay tuned! Cheers, Rahja**


	4. Bond of Trust

**3 – BOND OF TRUST**

The Vatican was humming like a bee-hive filled with anxious cardinals. They had all heard the news that France had set their minds on taking Naples and many of them also knew that Cardinal della Rovere was with the French king. If he got his way, he might well be able to coerce the King into attacking Rome itself and deposing the Borgia Pope. No one was more aware of this fact than the Pope's son Cesare.

"Your cousin's dukedom of Milan is now host to the arms of King Francis of France," he reminded Chancellor Sforza.

"Not for long, I would imagine," Sforza returned unimpressed.

Cesare nodded. "Indeed, he is allowing free passage of the armies through his territories – south."

"Well, we must all pray for deliverance, then."

Cesare stopped his fellow Cardinal abruptly by putting himself in the man's way. "And how does he imagine the Pope will regard this betrayal?"

"Betrayal?" Sforza shrugged. "I was told that the armies of France threaten Naples, not the holy city of Rome."

"So they will pass through Rome, if they get this far, and leave the holy city as it was?" Cesare asked unbelieving.

"What other outcome could one wish for?" Sforza replied and turned to go, but Cesare wouldn't let him.

"I think you know, Cardinal Sforza, that Cardinal della Rovere has but one end in view – the deposition of our Holy Father, the Pope," Cesare reminded him very sternly.

But Sforza was still not impressed, still too much of an expert in intrigue to care. "Yes, a grave matter indeed, and one with few precedents."

Cesare crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Your attitude to this possibility?" He asked succinctly.

"I myself voted for the Holy Father," Sforza returned, also crossing his arms.

"So we can count on your continued support?"

Sforza moaned. "Yes, of course." He made his way around Cesare to finally leave this dreadful conversation, but the young man wouldn't give up.

"What else would you say to me, his son?" Cesare insisted.

"Indeed, what else, Cardinal Borgia, what else?" Sforza stopped sighing.

"You would be wise to be steadfast in this matter, Cardinal," Cesare reminded him. "You have another cousin married to my sister. He would be wise to remain steadfast, too."

Sforza smiled darkly. "Shall I tell him that or should you? Or should we leave that responsibility to your sister, Lucrezia?"

* * *

She had known and feared this moment. In the back of her head, a voice had constantly been nagging her, telling her that this day would come, but she had wished it away like a bad dream. Now, putting down her cup with trembling fingers, Lucrezia realised that her nightmare had come true. Her husband had just announced to her that he fully intended to return into the saddle. His leg was getting better. She would never be free.

"Are you sure that is wise, my Lord?"

Giovanni nodded. "My leg, thank God, is healing… as we may confirm tonight."

"Tonight?" Lucrezia asked in a broken voice. All her blood had suddenly vanished from her face, it seemed, and rushed towards her pounding heart.

"Tonight," Giovanni affirmed it. "I've slept alone for too long."

Breathing heavily, Lucrezia nodded and feigned a smile. It didn't even take her an instant to realise how badly she was acting right now. He would see straight through her and know that she was petrified by the thought of him ever coming near her again. Her hands grabbed the cup as a drowning clutched to driftwood. She downed the rest of the wine, not daring to look at her husband again. She would never be free of him if she ever allowed him into her bed again. If she were to conceive his child… even the thought of it made her sick. She would never carry the seed of his wrathful personality in her, never. She had to do something.

At night, before he entered her sleeping chamber, Lucrezia was staring into the fire with a pounding heart. She was aware that the thing she was about to do was wrong, that it was a sin in God's eyes. Her conscience bled as she took the water-filled dish and knelt to the ground. It was utterly wrong and mean; it was heartless. What would Cesare think of his sweet innocent sister if he knew she was considered evil deeds like this?

The water poured from her dish and plunged unto the floor reflecting her face. She hardly recognised herself. She wasn't the girl she had used to be, sweet and carefree and without malice. When she had been married, she had asked Giovanni whether he knew words like love and admiration, but he had not replied. Now she found that he had taught her other words: Hurt, disappointment, disgust, fear, and rebelliousness. Yes, she had become a rebel, and this evolution seemed irrevocable. If God truly asked her to be faithful and obedient to a man like Giovanni, what other choice did she have but to rebel? She wouldn't be his puppet to be beaten and filled like a flower pot. She was herself. She was a Borgia girl.

Hearing his steps approaching, Lucrezia fled into the bed and uncovered her shoulder. She had to be absolutely stunning; otherwise he would notice the water.

"My Lady," he said.

"My Lord," Lucrezia returned in her most seductive voice.

"You are a vision."

Lucrezia smiled. "Even for a Borgia?"

"Your beauty was never in question, merely your breeding," Giovanni said as if it wasn't an insult. "And speaking of breeding, the entire principality will be expecting an heir soon."

"So soon?" Lucrezia asked in order to hide her disgust.

"We mustn't disappoint them, must we?" Giovanni returned.

He drew closer to her, his dark eyes looking at her like a lion scanned its prey. Her heart was beating so loud that she feared he could hear it, but he would have mistaken it for excitement anyway. Then, when he had almost reached her and Lucrezia had already begun to fear it would never happen, he tripped and fell.

"Ahhhh!"

Lucrezia hurried to get off the bed. "My Lord," she whispered in well-prepared shock. "Here, let me help you."

Her helping hands were of course not beneficial at all, causing him to moan even louder. It gave her a certain pleasure to hear him go through the same pain he had forced her through.

"Oh, I am so sorry, my Lord."

"Ahhh!"

* * *

Anne Boleyn, former queen of England, was enjoying a cool breeze on her balcony on this hot summer's day. It was hard to imagine that, only half a year ago, she had been freezing in a draughty English castle fretting over her future. She had gone through hell since, but she had emerged from it and was, in a way, free now. At least her life and sanity were saved. She may have lost everything, most of all Henry's love, but she had regained some of her former strength. This constant fear of angering him, the nagging voices of spiteful courtiers – all gone. A new life.

She opened her eyes smiling only to find that her new friend and inmate, Giulia Farnese, was frowning as she glanced over the roofs of Rome. Anne had tried her best to win over the Italian beauty after she had realised that Giulia might just be her only chance of having a friend in this place that would now be her home. In the first weeks, Anne had still faintly hoped to return to England, but now she had to face the truth that Henry had married his wench and would never call her back. She had to adjust quickly or else she would drown. And if she had to stay here, being friends rather than foes with Giulia was certainly the wiser decision.

"Are you troubled, Giulia?" She asked gently.

"You have the eyes of a hawk," Giulia returned smirking. "I sometimes believe that they are nailing me down."

Anne laughed darkly. "People sometimes feel this way, yes, though I don't know why. I would never mean you harm, my dear. Please, feel free to ease your mind: what is bothering you so?"

"Lucrezia," Giulia replied instantly.

"The Pope's daughter?" Anne asked frowning.

"Yes, but my friend also. She is but a gentle-hearted youth, a pawn in the games of others. She deserves our pity," Giulia told her. "She is married to Giovanni Sforza, member of the powerful Sforza family with whom His Holiness has sought an alliance. The marriage cannot be very happy, since she is so young and beautiful and he rather old and ungallant."

Anne nodded turning her face away towards the rooftops burning under the sun. "I pity her, then."

"His Holiness has expressed his concerns that the Sforzas may not keep their promises to him," Giulia added in a more serious tone.

"What promises?" Anne was curious now. Broken promises, political alliances, and intrigues – it was her world exactly.

"Promises of military support. If the French reach Rome, what side will the Sforzas be on? Their arms might just tip the scales," Giulia explained. "Caterina Sforza is a very shrewd woman with little scruples. She might seek to breech her contract with the Holy Father and side with France."

Anne's eyes widened. "A woman is leader to their forces?"

"Not just _a woman_. Caterina is… one of a kind. If I would not suspect her an enemy of the Pope, I would feel obliged to admire her." Giulia smiled. "Unlike most men, she is not easily fooled. I cannot know what she is planning. What if they mean to betray His Holiness? And I am mainly worried for my dear Lucrezia in this – if French troops are allowed into the Sforza lands, will they be able to take her hostage? I would not even dare to imagine what they could do to her."

Anne flinched. Her natural instinct was to defend the French, to mention that they would never mishandle a noble woman. But then, she remembered her own words, spoken only a few months earlier: They French are always breaking their promises. They had not helped her in her darkest hours, her, a professed friend of the French ways – why would they treat a Pope's bastard daughter any better?

"Then you must go and find out, and free her if necessary," Anne advised her new friend.

Giulia nodded. "I would, but they would see through it. There is no reason for me to visit her other than to spy on her husband's activities, and he is no fool. It would raise suspicion."

"Surely you can think of an excuse?"

"Sadly no, although I have been pondering it all day," Giulia admitted. She looked at Anne and suddenly, her face changed. "But I have an idea now. _You _would have a convincing reason to travel to Pesaro – to present yourself to the Pope's daughter. A courtesy visit."

Anne blinked twice. "Me? Surely you do not mean it. I do not even know her, yet you expect me to risk my life for her?"

"I hardly think your life would be at stake," Giulia returned. "Please, think of it – you could truly help her. His Holiness has saved your life and that of your daughter, is it not so? With this, you could repay the favour, no, more so, he would forever be in your debt. You have set aside religion to be on good terms with me, why can you not forget about it when a young girl's safety is jeopardised? Whatever ill feelings you may harbour against her father, Lucrezia is innocent and undeserving of them."

With a small gesture, Anne caused her to stop. "Say no more, your eagerness is proof enough that you consider her worthy of my compassion. But even if I trusted your judgment, who is to say that I could gather the information you need? This Giovanni Sforza knows me not; I highly doubt that he would include me in his war preparations."

Giulia smiled cunningly. "Ah, but Anne, surely a woman of your talents is above such matters. You would find a way to elicit from them whatever intelligence you need. And if you found that Lucrezia's life was endangered, you would certainly find means to protect it."

Anne hesitated. She accepted Giulia's evaluation of the situation, she even saw sense in the fact that she owed Pope Alexander. But still, a voice inside her feared the outcome of this mission. What if the Pope's daughter was unwilling to cooperate? What if she was found out? Would she ever see Elizabeth again? Her heart clenched. Elizabeth, her darling daughter. If Elizabeth was in Lucrezia's place, would she not also wish for everything humanly possible to be done in her assistance?

Yes, she would. Anne straightened her shoulders and nodded graciously.

"I will do it, Giulia, but on one condition only: That you first tell me everything about those who yield power in Italy, and to what end. If I am to fight a war, I must know the battlefield."

Giulia's eyes lit up. "Gladly."

* * *

Lucrezia had managed to keep him from her bed successfully, but she still found herself forced to dine with him. There had to be a way to end this. Now that she had overstepped the boundary of innocence for the second time, she knew there was only way, and it wasn't leading her backwards. She had to plot herself out of this marriage if she ever wanted to feel happiness again. If only her father didn't need Sforza's arms to protect himself against the French!

"You should consider it fortunate, my Lady, that you are a Borgia no longer," Giovanni said during one of their meals.

What, another insult against her family? Lucrezia could no longer count the times he had slandered those she loved the most. Was it truly so bad that they were illegitimate, that they were Spaniards? Was that enough to hate them as much as Giovanni did? Lucrezia didn't think so. She knew her father and her brothers – they were good people. Granted, Juan was kind of a scallywag, but who could ever hate Joffre? Or her, before she had become this unscrupulous woman _he _had turned her into? _Keep calm, _she told herself. _Do not let your emotions show. Remember what Giulia taught you._

"What does my Lord mean?"

"The French army has passed through Milan. My cousin Ludovigo has given them free passage through his dukedom," Giovanni explained. "If the Republic of Florence doesn't resist their advance, there'll be nothing to stop their passage towards Rome."

Lucrezia swallowed her fear. "I know little of politics," she claimed.

"But you know enough, surely, to know that your father's days may be numbered."

Now, Lucrezia couldn't help but look at him with fear. Did he mean it? "I will always be my father's daughter, Signor. And unless I am very much mistaken, I do believe the Sforza armies, yours and your cousin Caterina's, were pledged to his course."

Giovanni nodded. "That promise did form part of the betrothal arrangement."

"And my Lord would never renege on a promise," Lucrezia insisted smiling.

"Well, my cousin Caterina already has," Giovanni replied matter-of-factly and dug his teeth into the rabbit.

Lucrezia's face fell flat on the floor and cracked. How could he speak of this betrayal as if it meant nothing? How could he be so heartless?

"But you, my Lord, would never be so dishonourable," she said more to herself.

Giovanni looked at her raising an eyebrow. "Is it dishonourable to assist in the deposition of a Borgia pope? As dishonourable perhaps as removing a litter of swine from the Vatican walls."

Fear and hurt overcame the young lady. Her heart was beating so fast she feared it would break her chest and a sudden wave of nausea rushed through her body. _No, don't show him your weakness, girl!_ She turned her head and suppressed the urge to throw up.

"Are you ill, my Lady?"

Lucrezia swallowed her anger now as well. "Perhaps your words offend me?"

"Forgive me, then, for speaking so plainly. But understand that if Florence admits the French armies, then the Sforza arms may march with France," Giovanni said.

_No, they can't! They'll depose my father! They'll hurt Joffre! They'll kill Cesare! They can't! _Completely distressed, Lucrezia rose from her chair.

"It is unwise, my Lord, to upset me thus," she whispered underneath her breath. Her feet didn't obey her commands any longer. She held to the table tightly and tried to stagger out of the room, but it didn't work out.

"Oh, my Lady!" Her favourite lady said rushing to her side. "Come."

Lucrezia sank into her arms and allowed her to take her to the bedroom without resistance. She had never felt so weak before in her entire life.

* * *

Paolo was tending to the horses while trying to figure out a plan how to save his beloved wife from his master, her husband. Having been born a dutiful peasant, of course he knew the damnability of revolting against one's betters and under any other circumstances, he would have never dreamt of it. He had been roughly handled at times, beaten and yelled at, but never had he thought of acting against Lord Sforza's interests. And now that he did, it wasn't for his sake. It was for hers. For Lucrezia.

His search for ideas, however, had been fruitless up to now, so he found himself easily distracted when the sound of nearing hooves entered the courtyard. It was a precious white mare ridden by a raven haired woman. Her clothing was foreign, but lavish, and the look in her eyes left no doubt that she was of noble blood. Paolo rushed to aid her.

"Madonna?" He asked dutifully.

Her response startled him. She was speaking Latin, as was natural for most nobles, but he could barely understand a word. His native tongue was the vernacular Italian and no one had ever bothered to teach him the old language, so all he could do was stare at her helplessly.

"Residence of Lucrezia Borgia?" The woman now asked in heavily accented Italian.

Paolo nodded smiling sadly. "Sforza."

"Sforza," the woman repeated nodding.

She stretched out her hand to him so that he could help her to the ground. Paolo couldn't help but notice that she had an unfamiliar yet captivating scent. The woman, however, took little notice of him now, letting her eyes soar around the courtyard like an eagle. She took off her riding gloves and entered the building through the main gate. Paolo watched her go, wondering who she was and why she was looking for his beloved Lucrezia.

Anne Boleyn, on the other hand, took very little time to marvel about the good-looking stable lad before turning to her main task – spying on the Sforzas and meeting the Pope's daughter. She quickly found herself one of the higher ranking servants, hoping that they might understand Latin, which fortunately they did. It took her only half an hour to be presented to Giovanni Sforza.

"The Lady Anne Boleyn, my Lord!"

Anne stiffened her back and entered the dining room the way a queen would enter it. From her conversations with Giulia she had heard much about Lucrezia's husband, but nothing which would have let her to develop any kind of respect for him. He was but a minor noble, but she had been a queen once. He might be able to frighten a poor young girl like the Pope's daughter, but not her.

"Ah, the English guest," a male voice received her.

The man rising from his chair was middle-aged, short of stature and plain of face. His hair was hideous, as if it was attached to his head on all sides, but then again Anne wasn't fond of Italian men's hairstyles anyway. Much to her surprise, she found another person in the room, a severe-looking woman of perhaps forty in a night-black dress.

"May I introduce my cousin, Caterina Sforza?"

Anne smiled. Giulia had warned her about Giovanni's cousin and the tales of her courage and abilities had caused the former queen to be quite interested in her. After all, there weren't many strong women in powerful positions, but this Caterina Sforza seemed to be one. Anne respected her instantly, but she also instinctively felt that they were not on the same side.

"Madonna Caterina, I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Anne greeted her, completely neglecting to pay her respects to the master of the house. "Your reputation precedes you; and the tales of your military prowess."

Caterina didn't flinch from Anne's gaze, and God knew there were only few people in the world who could escape her eyes. They were dark hooks for the soul.

"These are troubled times," Caterina replied.

Anne nodded softly. "Indeed they are. "And the lady I came to be introduced to, your dear wife, Lucrezia? When can I meet her, my Lord?"

"She is indisposed."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Anne asked.

"The politics of our Italy have unnerved her," Giovanni replied. "Please, have a seat."

"They have unnerved us all," Caterina added in a graver tone. "You are the Pope's guest, Lady Anne. He has allowed you into his circle of trusted friends, has he not? And you know about politics. So please, enlighten us: Will he resist this French invasion? Will he bring bloodshed and carnage upon all our heads?"

Anne didn't even bat an eyelash. "You are no stranger to bloodshed, are you, Madonna Sforza?"

"I would save my arms for battles I can win."

Now, Anne admired her even more. She would have loved to exchange thoughts with Caterina on a friendly level, to be on the same side as her. She seemed a highly prudential woman, something Anne had always been fond of. On the other hand, her answer had affirmed Anne's first appraisal had been correct: Caterina would not fight for the Pope. A few years earlier, Anne would have rejoiced at the thought, but now that she found her fate and Elizabeth's bound to the survival of Alexander VI, she had no choice but to fight for him like a lion.

"If you're asking me 'will he accept his deposition as the Pope of Rome?', the answer is a resounding 'never'," Anne said convinced.

Caterina frowned. "With what armies will he confront the French?"

"With the armies of the Papal States, the Lords of the Romagna… what are their names again?" Anne played clueless despite knowing everything. Giulia had formidably briefed her on Italian politics. "Ah, Colonna, Salviati, Sforza."

"Well, we're all doomed, then," Giovanni Sforza returned sourly.

"No," Caterina interrupted him. "No, the House of Borgia is doomed. The arms of the House of Sforza will remain where they belong – in the Romagna."

Anne wasn't impressed by this breech of promises. Instead, she asked as sweetly as possible: "And what of my Lord's marriage with the House of Borgia?"

Giovanni shrugged. "What of it?"

"I was under the impression that there was some sort of contract. Will you now let these French armies march towards Rome and do…"

"What everyone else in Italy is doing," he cut her short. "Nothing."

Anne disliked him even more now for being unable to mask his betrayal. At least, his cousin mentioned reasons for her decisions, but he seemed to be acting only out of spite. He deserted his father-in-law because he could.

"Have you shared this intelligence with your dear young wife, Lucrezia?" She asked coldly.

"She is too young to understand such matters," Giovanni returned smiling.

_But I am not, _Anne thought. _I see through your scheme, I know that you are keeping her as a hostage to make sure that the Pope doesn't chastise you for your betrayal. I might have agreed with your cousin, but never with you. _

"May I be allowed to meet with her, then? Perhaps meeting new people might lighten up her spirits."

"I will send message that you wished to see her," Giovanni promised. "If she feels well enough, she will let you know. Until then, be my guest, Lady Anne."

* * *

Their first meeting was a moment of shock for both women. Lucrezia, sitting in a chair by the fire despite the fact that it was August, had never expected the former English queen to be so average-looking. Well, there was something about Anne Boleyn's eyes, but all in all she had anticipated her to be far more beautiful. Interestingly enough, Anne's thoughts were somehow similar: she had never expected to find the famously beautiful Lucrezia Borgia in such a wretched state. The young woman, still half a girl, was clearly unwell and very distressed by these recent events. Her maid had put much effort into dressing her appropriately, but her ash-grey face left no doubt about her well-being.

"Please sit with me, Lady Anne. I am so pleased that we should finally be acquainted," Lucrezia said in the warmest voice she was capable of. "I have heard so many stories about you and have long hoped to meet you in person."

"Which is also true of yourself, Madonna Lucrezia," Anne replied smiling and took to the seat next to her host. "I regret intruding on you in your hour of illness."

"I do not mind a little distraction. These bloody days offer so little consolation for me at times."

Anne flinched at her words. _These bloody days… _Another person had used this phrase not long ago – Thomas Wyatt, her old friend and admirer, who had gone through the same hell as all the others accused with her.

"It must be very difficult for you, being torn between your loyalty to your husband and that to your father, seeing that Signor Sforza does not entertain the possibility of keeping his vows and aiding the Pope," Anne said gently. "Husbands can be very difficult at times."

"Coming from your mouth it must be true," Lucrezia remarked but instantly regretted her words. "Oh, I am so sorry, my Lady, I did not mean to insult you, I only meant that…"

Anne put her hand on Lucrezia's. "Hush, Madonna, there is no need for explanations. You were merely speaking the truth. If anyone knows what it feels like to be utterly betrayed by their husband, it is I. All I can do is pray that you do not suffer the same fate."

"Oh, Lady Anne, I…"

"Please, Madonna Lucrezia, let us not dwell in the past," Anne insisted. "I would speak to you honestly, if I may?"

Lucrezia nodded. "Of course you may."

"I am here not only to make your acquaintance, but on behalf of our common friend, _la bella Farnese_. She is deeply worried for your safety here should your husband allow French troops into his domains," Anne explained. "Though you barely know me and I you, it may thus be necessary for us to form a bond of trust sooner than might be expected, for it seems inevitable to me that we take you into safety."

Today's first smile appeared on Lucrezia's face. She returned the grasp on Anne's hand. "But we have formed a bond of trust already, Lady Anne, haven't we?"

Anne smiled, too. Her instincts warned her about trusting anyone on first sight, especially if that someone was daughter to a cunning man like Pope Alexander, but she felt a strange connection to Lucrezia. They shared a similar fate with one exception: Anne had already fallen. For Lucrezia, there might still be help.

"Then we must move at once, Madonna, and act cautiously."

Lucrezia nodded. "If you say so, I shall trust you in these matters. Giulia once said that we women were destined to fight over our men, but that in truth, we should rather support each other."

"She was very wise to say such things," Anne agreed.

"Ah," Lucrezia suddenly replied, pressing her hand to her mouth. "God, no…"

* * *

In a way, Anne Boleyn was glad that her young friend had passed out. This way, she might not remember throwing up in front of her, a memory that would certainly always remain shameful for the girl. She looked at Lucrezia lying in her bed, her face even paler than before and sparkling from little drops of sweat, and wondered how she had ended up here. How could she, a fervent reformer, sit by the side of the Pope's bastard daughter and hold her hand as if they were sisters? Anne didn't know.

She only knew one thing: Lucrezia was ill and in need of a friend and she was the closest thing available. Anne, too, had often been in need of a friend, but no one had been there for her. She would not allow this to happen to anyone else, Catholic or bastard or not. Giulia Farnese had been right – women had to work together or else they were all doomed to be triturated between the machinations of men. If only Anne's fellow Englishwomen had thought this way, then Jane Seymour would have never been able to replace her so easily.

"Cem is in my dreams again," the sick young lady suddenly whispered.

Anne frowned, trying to recall where she had heard the name before.

"My Mussulman friend… oh, Lady Anne."

"The young Turkish prince who was guest of your family? The one who died of fever?"

Lucrezia, still painfully weak, tried to nod. "Can one contract marsh fever in these mountainous regions?"

"I am sure the mountains have fevers of their own, but I know them not," Anne replied sadly. "Fret not about that, Madonna. You are ill. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Are you a doctor?" Lucrezia returned.

Anne smiled. "A little, yes. I've read some books and have seen many things. Please, describe your illness."

Lucrezia took a deep breath. "I wake up nauseous. I expel the contents of whatever I ate the night before. I sweat. It comes and goes."

"When does it come and go?" Anne asked suspiciously.

"Mornings are the worst," Lucrezia replied panting for air.

Anne nodded slowly. She knew where this was headed, but felt reluctant to address the matter with a person she knew so little about. If there was anyone else to do the job, she would have gladly stepped down now, but there was no one. Nobody would help Lucrezia now if Anne abandoned her out of politeness. She couldn't do that.

"I am sorry to ask, but… your husband, does he visit your bed nightly?"

Lucrezia smiled weakly. "He had a hunting accident, Lady Anne. He has slept alone since his fall."

"How strange," Anne murmured, but she knew better than to judge the young girl.

Perhaps she too would have been unfaithful to a husband like that. Sighing deeply she took a wet towel and patted Lucrezia's forehead. The girl's condition being thus, Anne knew that the time she had to form an escape plan had significantly shortened. It wouldn't be long before her husband found out about it and then, he would never let her go.

"We must leave this castle at first light, before Lord Sforza awakes. Have you any friends you can confide in here?"

Unable to speak against the plan, Lucrezia simply answered: "There is a maidservant, Francesca… and there is a groom. Paolo."

"You can trust this groom?"

Lucrezia nodded. "With my life."

Anne understood. She understood perfectly well. Trying to hide her smile she asked: "He was kind to you?"

"He was my only solace here," Lucrezia admitted lowering her gaze.

"I will not speak of it, ever," Anne promised. "But it is good. He can provide us with horses, then."

Lucrezia wanted to nod, to agree with everything, but between all her sicknesses, a curious question emerged. She didn't have the power to fight it off.

"You said it was strange," she mentioned. "Why is it strange, Lady Anne?"

"Because, Madonna Lucrezia, I recognise the symptoms of your illness and it's not called marsh fever. You're with child."

A cold shower ran through Lucrezia's body. It all made sense now. But by God, was she ready for this? What would her husband say, or her father? She longed to have her loved ones around her now, to confide in them, but all she had was a half-stranger. She looked at the foreign lady smiling wryly.

"You were right, then, when you said that we would find ourselves in need of trust very soon," Lucrezia remarked. "Can I trust you now?"

"You can. I would never betray a woman's secrets," Anne said solemnly. "And I would never abandon a mother-to-be. We must get you to a safe place at once. Rest now, I shall see to it that we have horses in the morning. We will be back in Rome within the week. All will be well."

"How can you say that?" Lucrezia asked desperately.

Anne smiled. "I am a woman of many talents, Madonna. If there is a way, I shall find it. All I ask of you is to rest and not to overexcite yourself."

Anne pulled down the blanket a little to give the girl more are and sighed. To devise the plan was easy, but to execute it in reality, Anne would need most of the talents she had just mentioned. She would need cunning and stealth and persuasion. She would need to be the person she had always been in her heart: a queen.

* * *

**AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well; things are finally starting to get going! Please review, it's nice to know someone has read this!**


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